How Thrift Shopping Helps Me Explore My Trans Womanhood

"Each decision I make about what I wear is intentional, and is a second chance for me to live the way I deserve to."

Fashion is one of the most vital and visible aspects of my expression as a trans woman, but as a college student who paid out of pocket to pursue medical transition, my options have been economically limited. When I was unable to default to shopping malls and name brands, thrift shops became my haven for their affordability and unpredictability. From locally-owned consignment stores to Goodwill, these shops symbolize a second chance for the clothes that have been donated, left behind, and thrown away. What strikes me most is how I see my transness reflected in thrifting — whether I wear hand-me-down burgundy lipstick or a thrifted batik dress on a golden September day, each decision I make about what I wear is intentional, and is a second chance for me to live the way I deserve to.

My most cherished piece of clothing I own is from a thrift store: a bright yellow cardigan. As a kid, I was intensely fascinated with colors, and Trini, the yellow Power Ranger played by Thuy Trang, was the first Southeast Asian woman I’d ever seen on TV. The darkness of her hair contrasted with the bright yellow on her skin set the foundation for my deep love of the color yellow — a love in which I only re-discovered last year.

Rachel Casterline

At the time, I was creatively stagnant, angry at the world, and tired of having to validate and reassure others’ perception of my womanhood. I live my life in great fear that everything I have worked for can be taken away just because I am trans. But this cardigan, flowy and soft, is a hug as much as it is an armor. I think about Trini: agile, upbeat, and firm in her stance as a woman who wasn’t white; a woman who wasn’t the pink ranger, but who was self-assured and kicked ass. Today, I wear yellow as a (not so) gentle reminder that it is more than okay to be a woman whose femininity and presentation is intentional; is an expression of my unconventionality.

I’ve worn wingtip shoes since high school because the style was accessible to me even when I had to present myself as masculine. When I started to transition, I felt more comfortable with the idea of wearing shoes that were seen as more conventionally feminine — but I didn’t want to. Keeping wingtip shoes in my wardrobe and on my feet after transitioning is a declaration that gendered expectations do not dictate my style — I do. I can wear my wingtip oxfords today, put on a pair of pumps tomorrow, and feel in no way restricted by what other people say my gender performance “should” entail. Also, it doesn’t always have to be that deep — I just think these shoes are cute.

Rachel Casterline

As a student who transitioned during my time at my small college, it was challenging to experience ordinary things like the girls I roomed with did. Transitioning very publicly in college, I was immersed in educating my peers as well as the administration. In addition to transitioning publicly, my involvements in working orientation as openly trans, working three years at the Gender and Sexuality Resource Center, and doing advocacy for trans communities on social media and on my blog has made me well-known on campus, and while this means that I have people who look out for me, it also means that strangers on campus know my story without actually knowing me. This has increased my social anxiety, which has only gotten worse as I’ve been outed at bars, have experienced microaggressions and complications in dating, and am unable to be stealth (or at least to be a person whose transness wasn’t their main identifier). I was upheld to “that trans Asian girl” narrative — and sometimes, I need a break.

Rachel Casterline

This past October, with money I’ve saved up from working four jobs, I impulsively booked a room in Harlem and spent four nights adventuring on my own in New York City with only my thrifted jean shorts packed in my carry-on. I went to a bar in Sugar Hill, I met a queer man of color who graciously paid for half of my tab, I went home with a cute boy who didn’t bat an eye after I disclosed to him that I am trans, I went to see a musical by myself and sobbed in the orchestra while the people near me spilled wine on their cocktail dresses, I sat in silence on the train listening to SZA’s “Drew Barrymore” — I wore my denim shorts on every occasion. I realized then that the world is so much bigger than my small school, where people refused to see who I was beyond my trans identity. And the best part about these shorts? I thrifted them from the men’s section!

Thrifting has helped me feel at ease with many of the discomforts I’ve encountered in navigating my transition. I see a profound connection between thrifted clothing and my trans identity, and the ways in which I repurpose familiar items to create new ways of expressing myself. I didn’t know what to expect when I transitioned, and I never know what I’ll find when I go thrifting, but knowing that there is always something new to discover may just be the best part.